The feral king of the jungle
by Froggy-slice
Summary: Lost within the inhospitable jungle of Feralas, a young prince is forged into something primal and unlike anything anyone will ever know again. And he will bring change to more than just himself. When the conflict between the horde and the alliance threatens to destroy all he knows, he sets out to make a difference, forging a destiny for more than just himself...


**Chapter one**

The spear plowed into him from behind, without warning and without mercy, the sturdy wooden shaft and spike utterly exploded from his chest, through his lung. Gore and bone matter splattered the ground at his feet as the spear exploded from his chest and sunk into the ground pinning him there in a brutal display of efficiency.

His eyes widened in sudden fear as a pained roar exploded from his mouth. He snarled, panic and survival instinct kicking in as he ripped the weapon from his chest and tossed it aside. His eyes darted back and forth, up and down, looking for his sudden assailant. He couldn't see any hint of it. He sniffed the air trying to pick up a foreign scent, his wide nostrils making loud snorting noises as he tried to pinpoint the location. He readied his claws and bellowed, daring his attacker to show itself.

Another spear came.

It shot out of the tree tops diagonally from his right, just inside the peripherals of his vison, moving too fast to react much. He only had time to turn in the direction of the attack in surprise before the weapon slammed into his chest, breaking the sternum and shredding through the other lung and out of its back. Gasping his final breath, because that was all he could do, he turned in the direction of the tree. Still he couldn't see anything. His vision began to darken and he knew that he was going to die. Animalistic instinct demanded that he fight on, that he rip this weapon from his chest and continue. But it was too late. He was to be slain by an unseen opponent. Dropping to his knees, he growled like the beast he was, coughed a mouthful of blood and keeled over, rapidly fading from the world of the living.

And it was just as his vision completely went black, that he caught a scent at last.

What…was…

Everything went silent.

For well over a minute after the creature expired, the area became unnaturally still, as if the jungle itself knew of the hunting that had just taken place and the wildlife in the area didn't was to risk making any sounds and bringing the attention of this unseen predator to them. It was just the slain beast and the jungle.

Nothing else.

*Snap*

And then life returned to the jungle with the sound of that single twig snapping. A hidden tension was released. Animals began to move about again, as they realized that the hunt was over, and that they themselves were not the target. A beautiful symphony of different sounds of nature flooded the air once again as life resumed.

"Whew,"

That simple sound was a sound full of relief. It was the kind of relief that came after weeks of struggle and trials of survival in an environment they'd been cast into without any sort of preparation. It was a kind of relief that came after finally having something go their way.

It was also the sound of a child way too young to be out in this jungle by them self.

"I-I can't believe that actually worked."

Small, timid and utterly vulnerable looking, the surprise hunter made itself known, slinking from out of the canopy.

A child not even in his preteen years yet, descended from the trees clumsily but swiftly. Bright blue eyes and ratty yellow hair were his most notable features. There was something about this child that just screamed royalty. He was a prince or some other type of noble.

The boy approached his prey, still cautious of the unmoving body, in case there was still a spark of defiance within. He kept low, slinking on all fours like a feline, making his tiny form as unnoticeable as possible as he approached. The creature he'd slain didn't even twitch as his hand came to rest atop the course, thick light blue fur. For a few seconds, the boy remained frozen and his eyes, blue as the clearest summer sky, stared unblinkingly at the creature, as if making sure for real that it was dead, until finally he relaxed.

"Okay," he muttered after looking the creature over. It was still a surreal experience to have actually succeeded in killing this creature. "Now comes the hard part."

Reaching behind him, the boy pulled a battered, rusty broken sword from the back of his tattered pants and brought it forth, holding it in shaky, unsteady hands. Taking a deep breath to steady his shaking, nervous body, the boy set out to do what he'd killed this creature for.

A few months ago, even if he hadn't really noticed it until this very moment, he would have scoffed with a derisive outraged laugh if someone had told him that he'd have to soil his hands like this, tending to his own kill like some…commoner. It would have been a natural reaction, ingrained into the head of a child on the fast track to being a pampered prince. He wouldn't have been meaning to sound so pompous or bratty. It was just the way things were and no one would have reprimanded him for his response.

But now, as his shaky hands struggled to force the old sword through the limited space between the furry skin and the flesh below, drenching his arms and chest in thick warm blood as he did so, he couldn't help but reflect and scoff at his former arrogance. No one was immune to the hardships of life.

He worked for two hours, slowly and meticulously skinning the body and chopping it up into manageable pieces. It was a gruesome scene, the clearing he'd killed the yeti in had become a blood spattered mess, strips of fur and skin lay strewn about haphazardly, tossed away at each failed attempt at a decent skinning. Both arms and most of the torso had been stripped of most of the flesh, leaving behind bloody bones and tendons. The meat itself was hanging about on a circle of spikes surrounding the clearing and the traps he'd used to kill the beast had been reset. He was alert. Four months of living in this jungle made him very aware of the threats within. He was paranoid, jumpy even as he worked on his prize. Any number of dangerous predators could arrive at any moment, attracted by the scent of blood that was no doubt permeating the air. Such is why he'd carved the wooden steaks and stabbed them into the ground in a circle facing outward. They would slow down any would be thieves, or at least give him the opportunity to hide or get to his traps. When he was done he stood back to observe his work. He sighed. It really was a gruesome sight to behold. And with his broken, rusty sword the job had been even more difficult. Oh well, no use in whining about it.

A sudden breeze hit him with an icy touch, instantly reminding him that he was shirtless, damn near pants less and he was covered from head to toe in still wet blood. He shivered, suddenly cold and turned his attention to his kill. Okay first thing first, he needed a fire.

When he'd first found himself in this jungle, building a fire was one of the very first things he'd set out to do. He had vague memories of an adventurer, a survivalist type hunter regaling the numerous noble children with his tales of battle and exploration around the world. And he remembered the guy offering a few tips for surviving in the wild. Building a fire was at the top of that list. He recalled the hunter's technique, descriptive advice but humorously given, as if he knew there wasn't ever a chance any of these little rich kids would ever need them.

But this child had been there, in need of that advice, and he struggled to recall what he'd been told.

Four months ago it would take him hours…days to get a fire started. It was a task so difficult he'd often times just went without, huddling in a makeshift covering made of large leaves or huddle up in a hole in the ground he'd dug. But he hadn't given up. He was determined.

And now he could start a fire in moments.

It was night by the time he's finally settled down. The area of the forest he'd laid claim to for the time being glowed orange, surrounded by a dozen poles with fire lit atop of them, and his large bonfire right in the middle, illuminating the outward facing wooden steaks and the dangerous traps surrounding from above. And the smell of cooking meat wafted out in all directions, attracting numerous animals and other such creatures close enough to see what was causing such an alluring aroma but also staying a safe distance away from the fires. The child had learned a while ago that fire acted as a pretty decent repellent for the creatures of the jungle, instinctual memory no doubt informing them that the presence of this dangerous element meant certain death if they ventured too close. It didn't repel everything and he wasn't stupid enough to believe that the scent of his kill and his cooking wouldn't bring something down upon him, but he did find some comfort for the time being. This was a well-practiced technique after all and those that did decide to chance the fires for a free meal often times found themselves hindered by the other defenses set up by the boy.

It took about forty minutes for the first few slabs of meat to cook enough for him to safely eat. It was the most satisfying meal he'd ever had. And as he tore into the meat, marveling at how well it actually tasted, he couldn't help but feel another surge of excited satisfaction. This was the reward for all his hard work. This was the gain he'd been looking for since steeling himself to survive in this unforgiving environment. He grinned as he swallowed. This was great. And on top of that, the beast he'd killed, a wendigo if his memory was accurate, was massive. With this one kill he secured a massive store of food for himself if he could smoke all of the meat before dawn the next morning. And on top of that, he couldn't' help the flood of ideas that came to him as he examined the bones left behind by the creature. There was so many, and there were so many possible uses.

Steeling himself and preparing for a long night, he pulled out his broken sword and smiled down at the thing fondly. It had saved him more times than he could count and it had proven more useful than anyone would have ever expected.

Four years went by. The boy grew and learned. He moved like a creature born of the jungle at this point. His eyes wide and alert and his body, sleek and toned, built for life in this environment. His hair, once short and golden yellow was now matted and caked with dirt and mud, hanging like dirty dreadlocks down just past his shoulders with barely any hint of its true colors showing through. His clothing, once a pair of barely there, silken pajama bottoms were now the handstitched leathers of slain beasts, with tufts of wendigo fur sowed on around his ankles and forearms, providing warmth. He wore a loincloth of the same material but also a pair of briefs underneath. His chest was bare, save for the thick strap that went across it diagonally, holding to his back a massive bow fastened from the skull and horns of the first wendigo he'd killed and a quiver full of arrows almost as long as he was tall. He also wore a belt that held his broken sword, and a pair of daggers made of bone on his right hip, while his left hip was adorned with a savage looking sickle attached at the handle to a thick leather cord.

He was currently crouched up in a very tall tree, surrounded by shadow and staring down at his target.

He'd encountered them before. Of all the creatures in the jungle, these particular beasts seemed determined to cause him trouble whenever and where ever possible, the trio of vicious looking slashes, long since healed and scarred over, across his chest was evidence of their insistence that they need to kill him.

And this particular one indeed had been causing him the most trouble for the last week or so.

He had nothing against Harpies truthfully. Indeed, he'd developed a very large amount of respect for all the creatures living in the jungle and had grown to admire them. However that didn't stop him from fighting for dominance over his territory like any other creature living here. He'd had to defend himself from everything throughout the years at least once. Wolf packs, wild bears, wendigos and grimtotem tauren. He'd even got into a tussle with an ogre once and had a near death encounter with the white chimera that sometimes roams close to where he'd set up shop.

But harpies…

There wasn't a creature in the jungle he'd killed more of. Not because he goes out looking for them. No, they seemed determined to come after him. They wanted his territory, if only because they found it laughable that a child had been able to claim such a large one, especially one that had a large very clean pond that was fed constantly from the spring coming out of the side of the eastern colossus landmass. He was constantly in conflict with them. It seemed never ending until he'd learned more about them. It turned out there was a leader, one who kept insisting upon stealing what was his. The matriarch so to speak. So he'd come up with only one salution…

"Hurk! Kyaaah!"

The attack came from above, so suddenly and so quickly that none of them had any hope of preparing. Like an avenging spirit, the Human boy descended up their matriarch, bone knives flashing and blue eyes seemingly glowing with primal power and dominance as he slammed into her shoulders and pinned her to the ground, ruthlessly jamming his daggers through her wings and pulling out his hooked blade and dragging it across her throat in a savage display of brutality, the barbs on the inside of the weapon sawed the flesh apart erratically and ruined any hope she may have had at surviving the blow. The rest of the harpies just stood there, stunned as the matriarch gasped for breath, eyes wide with fear and desperation as her life began to drain away. The human boy stared at them all, eyes cold and emotionless, his mouth set in a grim visage, body frozen as he waited for his victim to expire.

And when the harpy stopped struggling and lay motionless beneath him, he finally moved. They all flinched as he stood, still shocked at what had just happened and he spoke while he could, before they snapped out of it and swarmed him.

"Your matriarch is dead because of her actions against me," he said, slowly and measured. His young voice carried more weight than even the more powerful members of the clan. "I have nothing against your kind. I actually rather admire your beauty and your tenacity,"

He narrowed his eyes. "But I will not tolerate any attacks on me or any encroachments upon my territory. You have your area and I have mine. Leave me alone and you won't ever have to worry about me."

Then he was gone, seemingly vanishing without a trace the second he hit the edge of the territory. It was only after he was gone did the harpies snap out of their shock.

The jungle was his home. At this point in time it was more familiar to him than that of the castle he'd inhabited before, and it showed in his movements. He rarely ever touched the ground. Instead he leapt across the trees, hopping from branch to branch like a lemur or swinging through the vines. He glided through the forest, moving faster than many of the creatures were able to go, such was his confidence in where he was going, where his hands and feet would touch next. He barely even needed his eyes to do this. Instinct and familiarity guided him. He took a deep breath loving the feel of the wind brushing past him and through his hair. This was true freedom, this was true living.

His arrival back to his own territory came an hour later. It was a very beautiful indentation in the ground, as if something had taken a giant fifteen foot deep cookie cutter to the arena. It was almost perfectly circular with a small lake right in the middle of it. It was large too, almost big enough to house a small town with a massive tree that grew up from the wall and covered a good portion of it in refreshing shade and green tinted sunlight. Bright green grass covered the entire area, with numerous bushes, smaller trees and other such plants growing up everywhere.

But this place was obviously occupied. The proof of such was everywhere, a hut made of wood, mud and massive leaves sat at the edge of the wall under the tree, a huge fire pit sat just outside the structure surrounded by drying animal skins. There were wooden spikes on the edges of his territory and several other devices strewn about the area. He dropped down in front of his home and gave a sad smile. That harpy's death…it was necessary if unfortunate. Now perhaps the elfin bird women could focus on something else other than a pointless war with a random human boy. Unstrapping his weapons, he lazily headed to his bed, and plopped down without a care, passing out as soon as his head hit the furs…

It was seven years into his stay in the jungle when he found himself at odds with yet another stubborn and tenacious enemy, and unlike the harpy clan, this wasn't an enemy he could pacify by killing off their leader.

Night elf sentinels were scary and hell. More than able to match him in combat in the jungle, these Amazonian warrior elves showed no mercy and attack swiftly and without warning, often times it was reflex and luck alone that saved his life. He gasped as he barely avoided getting his head cleaved off by a flying Glaive, his eyes narrowed and determined and his dark grey wolf skin cloak swishing with barely any sound at all as he couched and sprinted on all fours like a feline, trying to circle around his adversary. He pounced like the predator he was, leaping at the elf's back with a pair of leather gloves adorned with a pair of wrist mounted fist weapons made from the very long front teeth of a very large feline, outstretched and ready to tear into her flesh but quickly had to adjust himself when she spun suddenly with a spear at the ready, jamming it right at his face. Quick as lightning, his right hand lashed out, catching the shaft of the spear just below the tip. Allowing him to spin the rest of his body up and over the elf in a show of impressive agility, he landed at her back again but swiftly leapt back to avoid her backwards kick. He absently admired the long, toned and deceptively slender limb as she tugged it back to herself and spun to face him with a snarl.

"You dare to use a night saber's fangs against me? I'll make your suffering legendary, Cretin!"

And there was the problem. He'd made the mistake of hunting the wrong animals apparently. Admittedly, he'd never seen anything like them before. They were large and beautiful with blue-white fur and very deadly looking fangs and claws. He'd been excited at the tools and clothing he could get from them, not even caring about the strange leathers and armors that had been laying near them at the time. So when their riders returned from a bath and spotted him right in the midst of skinning and quartering their precious mounts, they'd understandably had been enraged, sadness and vengeance pushing them to try and take his life without mercy. He'd barely gotten away with his life and had only managed to take with him the skulls of his kills.

Since then the sentinels seemed single minded in their pursuit of him. And it was hard as shit to lose them when they found his trail. They were ridiculously good at tracking and more than once he'd had to fight to get away. On the bright side, his continuing conflict with these women increased his awareness and combat abilities by leaps and bounds, and also yielded some pretty nice rewards whenever he'd managed to defeat one of them, leaving them to fend for themselves with nothing but their under clothes left after he'd stolen everything. But the downside was that for each elf he manages to defeat, their fury increases more and more, and so too do the groups that started patrolling the jungle looking for him.

Eyeing his current foe wearily, he moved, slowly and calculated, not daring to move too suddenly, his blue eyes seeming to glint from beneath the night saber skull helmet on top of his head. His eyes and upper half of his face were enshrouded in the shadow provided by the helmet, and the coal he had painted over said features as well, hiding his true nature from the woman. His body was taught with muscle, lean but powerful, always ready for action, but covered mostly by his thick fur cloak, made from wolf skin. Only his arms and legs could be seen, and that was because of his stance, crouched over on all fours, hunched over like a ready to pounce feline. He still wore the yeti fur tufts around his ankles and forearms and he still had his bow and arrows. The weapon was still very large on his frame but it was a lot easier to use now.

Time seemed to freeze as both opponents tensed for just a split second. Then they exploded into action. Faster than a normal eye could see, the sentinel whipped out her own bow and fired three arrows at the same time, all of them zeroing in at his chest. He only had time to blink before he was forced to duck, wincing as one of the arrows carved a shallow groove in his right cheek. He snarled and hurled his own weapons at the night elf, two tomahawks made of bone flew at her with speed and accuracy rivalling that of the arrows. She responded by unfurling her glaive and batting the weapons aside, a sneer already upon her face. She went to say something derogatory when her silver eyes widened in fear as she desperately threw herself to the side, barely avoiding the decapitating swing of a glaive of his own as he lunged at her, following right behind the tomahawks.

"What!?"

Fury began to overtake the sentinel as she beheld the weapon held in her foe's hand. The weapon was battered and old, and adorned with bone armaments to make the weapon's blades have more reach. But there was no mistaking the weapon's design or origin. As she gaped at the weapon in incredulous shock, she didn't notice the smirk that adorned his face, until something clicked at her feet. She only had enough time to gape down at the primitive looking explosive trap for a split second before she was blasted off of her feet and violently slammed into a tree.

"Gah!"

As her body slumped to the ground and her visions swam, her foe dropped from above, landing with a soft thump in front of her. She tried to glare but all she could do was wince. "G-go on then," she coughed. "Do it!"

She couldn't be sure but she could have sworn he'd given her a sad smile. Then all she knew was pain as he stabbed her through the chest with a spear, and everything went black.

She awoke days later, under the care of a pair of healers and under the watchful eye of her commander, Shandris Feathermoon. She was stripped of everything save for her leathers and was left with a very real reminder of the dangers of this…jungle man. And when Shandris herself asked her to explain her encounter, her tale would birth the beginning of an urban legend. Unfortunately, this would also cause a whole new slew of problems…

Blue eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight before him, his body, once slumped against his tree in rest and relaxation was now taught and ready. His fingers dribbled of the hilt of one of his tomahawks as he stared with a narrow-eyed gaze.

"A…a boy…?" The harpy spoke with a pained rasp, coughing up blood as she struggled to remain conscious. But even amongst all of that she couldn't hide the incredulous shock at seeing him face to face with no cover, no war paint and no bone helm. "Th-this…you are the feral king?"

Feral king? Never mind. He'd think on that later. The harpy was in terrible shape, broken and bleeding, her face was a bruised mess and her feather plumes ragged and abused. She slumped forward dropping to a knee and it was at that point in time that he noticed that she was completely missing her right arm, as if a massive blade had cleaved right through it. Unwittingly, a gasp escaped his mouth and all thoughts of conflict abandoned him. He rushed to the harpy's aid, gently easing her onto her back and checking her over. She coughed again and struggled to look into his eyes. "W-what…are you?" she muttered. He chuckled inwardly, doubting she'd ever seen a human before. He placed his finger on her lips and silently requested she not try speaking anymore. Gently lowering her to the ground and easing her onto her back, he began to check over her body, looking for broken bones and smaller cuts and abrasions before moving on to her bloody stump of an arm. She hissed in pain as he prodded at the wound, marveling at the fact that she was even still alive. "W-what are you doing?"

He silenced her with his finger on her lips again and silently went back to examining her wound. She watched as his face shifted into one of resigned concentration before he abruptly stood. Confusion ripped through her as he strode off towards his hut. And fascination blossomed as well when he watched him move. He glided across the ground with a deadly grace, so silent it was like he wasn't even touching the ground. And he was close to the ground at all times, slinking on his hands and feet like he'd been born to do so. He was like a wolf or a night stalker, prowling the borders of his territory like the king of it he was. Watching him move like that…It was captivating.

He returned to her quickly with a strip of leather in one hand and a…

She gasped as she spotted the red hot but broken sword, but before she could do anything he was upon her. "St-stop!" she yelled, trying to struggle but it was useless. Between her missing arm and his superior strength there wasn't much she could do. He pressed the leather into her mouth and stared imploringly into her eyes and mimicking biting down hard.

And before she could comprehend what it is he wanted her to do, burning agony shot through her body as he pressed the red hot metal to her stump of an arm, cauterizing the wound. Her teeth clamped down on the leather with more pounds of pressure per square inch than perhaps any of her race had ever done before, even as a violent scream ripped its way out of her throat.

He held firm as she struggled and thrashed for a whole minute until the wound was completely burned closed, and when he was done, she was left gasping ragged breaths, tears flowing from her eyes as she glared up at him. He gave a slight smile and gently caressed her face before offering her a drink. Where the hell did he even pull that from?

"Rest," he commanded gently. His voice was rough with years of very limited use, and was quiet.

She had no choice but to accept the drink, and before she could even savor the taste, she was unconscious.

When she awoke again, it was to the smell of cooking meat. She gasped as she sat up abruptly, then cried out as the pain hit her, her injuries flaring up at the sudden movement. Where was she? What happened? Questions flew through her mind until the memories rushed back. Images of murderers storming her and her sister's enclave without warning and without mercy, her barely escaping to seek the aid of the rumored feral King, a mysterious apex predator who prowled the forests and who's wrath was enough to lay waste to anything that opposed him. There are stories about him, whispers of awe and terror describing some of his past actions, envying his prowess. He was damn near at the very top of the chain in the jungle.

All of the clans knew where his territory was, if only so they didn't make the mistake of foolishly encroaching upon it so going to him for help seemed like the perfect idea in her fear and pain addled mind at the time.

But now…

She looked around, confused at surroundings, finding herself covered in furs and surrounded by wooden walls so different from her usual nest, with a wide opening facing a large fire pit.

Her heart skipped a beat upon seeing him there, roasting a large slab of meat on the end of a spear. Even from this distance he was intimidating. Even without much armors or covering he scared her.

But he was also fascinating… unlike anything she'd ever seen. He looked almost like one of her kind, with the pale skin and appropriate body parts in the right places, except he had no talons, nor feathers or wings. He was male and his eyes had been different.

She would have called him an elf but he was even more different from them than he was from her kind.

The closest comparison she could come to would be an ogre. But he was so obviously not one of those stupid brutes either. He was too small and his appearance too majestic.

Before she even realized it, she was standing directly behind him, as if drawn by some unknown force, tracing the contours of the muscles and scars on his back with her eyes. Watching as every movement he made caused them to shift beneath taught skin. She almost wanted to touch him, to run her talons along the cuts of his muscles.

He turned suddenly, startling her to the point that she fell over on her backside, staring with wide eyes.

For over a minute no one moved. She froze in fear as his intense slightly glowing bright blue eyes stared into her own, unblinking, seeming to test her very soul and judge it, and her eyes in turn, taking in his face, committing it to memory.

He was…young. It was shocking to realize just how young he was. He was barely outside of being a hatchling! He was an adolescent! This realization did make her eyes widen and a gasp escape her lips.

He was this young…

And yet he'd become the apex predator of the very harsh environment that was the feralas jungle. As his eyes began to settle and his body relaxed, she exhaled, ignoring all of her instincts that screamed for her to flee.

He watched her as she slowly, cautiously struggled to her feet, the task made more difficult by the fact that she was missing an arm. But he didn't move to help. And she didn't ask. He could feel the roiling emotions pouring off of her. Her cautiousness, her fear and he knew that she was on the very edge. To move to help could be seen as something else and she may attack, her instincts taking over. So he waited until she was finally staring into his eyes with a tsunami of different emotions.

She opened her mouth. Then closed it, hesitating to speak, building up the resolve to say the words she'd come here to say.

"I…" she looked down. "I-I've come to seek the aid of the feral king."

He just stared, not doing anything, causing the harpy to look up into his eyes once more. There was a question in those blue orbs of his. She could see it plain as day.

So she enlightened him.

"My home…OUR home," she began, gesturing around with her arm. "The one sanctuary many of us will ever know..."

Her emotions began to settle into an iron willed determination, tempered by fear and anger.

"Our jungle…"

She took a bold step towards him, ignoring all else but him, this mysterious and beautiful being before her, blocking out her pain and her aches.

"It's being invaded."

For the first time since she'd started talking, his face changed. His brow furrowed and a frown came to life upon his lips.

The harpy tentatively rested her remaining talon upon his chest, staring imploringly…pleadingly into his eyes.

"I beg you, _please._ Help me save my sisters! Help us repel these intruders, because if you don't, then they will sweep the whole of jungle away in a tide of destruction and blood."

She collapsed, tilting backwards. He didn't hesitate this time, catching her before she could hit the ground. He gently silenced her when she tried to speak again, lifting her up in bridal carry with the intention of taking her back to his hut so she can get more rest.

It was halfway there that his eyes caught two glinting metal objects hanging from a thick cord on her waist. He stopped cold as his eyes locked on to them, memories from a life, long since gone briefly assaulting him as he stared at the pendants, one of red and black, in the shape of a spiked horseshoe and the other of a blue and gold lion.

But upon seeing them, and then looking back at the harpy in his arms and the damage she'd sustained, any feelings or memories he may have had blossoming in his heart were crushed under a wave of anger.

He could guess why they were here.

But they wouldn't claim their prize so easily.

"I'll…help," he said, struggling to utter the words.

The harpy smiled. "T-thank you, Feral King. Thank you."

He chuckled silently. "Not…Feral…King."

She gave him a confused look. He continued with an amused smile. "An…duin."

The harpy rolled the name around in her mouth for a second before she truly relaxed at last in his arms, sleep rapidly enveloping her body as she spoke his name.

"…Anduin…"

 **AN: This fic has been a long time in the making. An idea older than over half of my already started fics, Feral King of the Jungle has sat in my computer, this chapter half done for almost three years. I've wanted to write it forever and finally FINALLY I have it started. Anyway tell me what ya thought. Figured tis about time I did a purely Warcraft fic. No crossover or anything lol.**

 **Peace till next tahm!**


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